


A Flower At Sea

by immortalflowers



Series: amble out for love [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hongjoong cares for his flowers, House Cleaning, It's just very sweet, Living Together, M/M, Seonghwa is a bit stressy and Hongjoong tries to make him happy, Seonghwa smokes bc he's stressed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, all that good shit, soft boyfriends!!!!, this is a tag????? nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23402146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalflowers/pseuds/immortalflowers
Summary: Seonghwa wakes Hongjoong up at 8 a.m. to help him clean the house, and while Hongjoong doesn't mind helping him, he'd rather stay in bed for a few more hours - they reach an agreement.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Series: amble out for love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696087
Comments: 11
Kudos: 155





	A Flower At Sea

**Author's Note:**

> I really posted three fics in less than two weeks? Love that for me! (Do check out my other Seongjoong and Yungi fics pls)
> 
> Please enjoy reading and wash your hands! And practice social distancing! Maybe stay inside like Seongjoong do
> 
> Kudos and comments really mean a lot to me so do leave some, and thank you to everyone who left wonderful comments on my previous works <3
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/yoongsicle)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/immortalflowers)

Hongjoong and Seonghwa have a weekend routine.

Hongjoong usually spends his Saturday mornings answering work emails, while Seonghwa cooks lunch and maybe reads a book, or waters the flowers (which are technically Hongjoong’s). Sometimes he even goes on a walk while Hongjoong is finishing work.

Today though, he plays a girl group playlist which can only mean one thing: he’s cleaning the apartment in detail. And while Hongjoong has no problems helping his partner clean, sometimes he just gets… a bit too much.

It’s often work related as well. Working in the ER is highly stressful, and after bad days (or nights), Seonghwa needs a release. Hongjoong can think of some much more amusing and mutually beneficial ways to destress than the one Seonghwa is currently conducting.

However endearing Seonghwa’s love for girl groups is, and however attractive his voice singing them under his breath is, Hongjoong doesn’t want to get up at 8 a.m. on a Saturday when he has virtually no work, to do spring cleaning.

“Hongjoong, babe, can you help me move the fridge, I want to clean behind it?” Seonghwa’s voice carries from the kitchen, even over the loud music.

Hongjoong feels like he’s sixteen again, back in his childhood bed, his mom vacuuming the hallway carpet, bumping into the doorjamb of his room on purpose to make him feel guilty for not waking up earlier and helping her.

Hongjoong takes Seonghwa’s pillow and puts it over his head in a sad and futile attempt to make the music quieter; Seonghwa just keeps singing louder and louder.

A shrill sound pierces through the pillow and Hongjoong wishes to all gods that they’re not calling him from work already. Jesus Christ, can’t he get a break?

He answers the phone not looking at the caller ID and is pleasantly surprised. “Hongjoong, the love of my life, the light of my stars, could you please get your ass to the kitchen and help me move the fucking fridge?” Seonghwa says from the other end.

Okay, so Hongjoong is decidedly not pleasantly surprised, but he finds it funny that Seonghwa decided that yelling at Hongjoong was less effective than calling his phone.

“You said fuck,” Hongjoong gasps. “You must be _really_ mad.”

“Hmm,” Seonghwa intones, and Hongjoong hears a loud crash from the kitchen.

“You’re not currently trying to move the fridge on your own, are you?” Hongjoong asks him, concerned for his safety.

“No, but I did break one of your ficus trees that was on the windowsill,” Seonghwa says in a voice that shows that he’s distracted.

“Okay, don’t move. I’m up,” Hongjoong says giving in, determined to save his boyfriend from himself.

He pulls on a pair of old sweatpants that are too long, and slightly too wide in the waist – definitely Seonghwa’s, and leaves his sleep shirt on.

The sight that welcomes him when he walks into the kitchen is one of chaos that probably makes sense somewhere in Seonghwa’s muddled mind. Hongjoong carefully steps over all the broken ceramic shards that used to hold up his precious rubber plant, and puts his arms under Seonghwa’s armpits, hugging him from behind.

He’s holding a broom in his hands, sweeping dirt into a little pile, and the plant is laying sadly on the floor, ripped from its life too soon. If Hongjoong finds an old flower pot, he’s sure he’ll manage to save it.

He kisses Seonghwa’s shoulder because he can’t reach his lips in this position. “What happened?”

“I wasn’t trying to move the fridge on my own,” Seonghwa answers defensively, a thread of mischief and panic laced in his voice. “It just happened to fall…on its own.”

“I wouldn’t be mad at you even if you threw it down on purpose,” Hongjoong says, lying his head on Seonghwa’s shoulder and getting comfortable holding onto him, while Seonghwa tries to move around the kitchen with Hongjoong holding onto him like a koala onto a bamboo tree. “It was growing too big for its pot, I was supposed to replant it into a bigger one, but didn’t have time this last month.”

And while Hongjoong loves all his plants dearly, the fresh pink and white orchids in the windows, the African violets and the array of cacti and succulents on the flower shelf in his office, being so swamped with work for the past two months didn’t leave him much time to take care of them.

Seonghwa does a great job keeping them alive on his own, though. He even dug around their rose bushes, hydrangeas and blush pink begonias last weekend, while Hongjoong was cooped up in the house, the work never-ending.

(And the flower kingdom they live in is _theirs_ in every shape and form of the word. While Hongjoong brought most of the indoor plants from his old apartment, they planted the small outside garden together.)

“Mhmm,” Seonghwa murmurs turning around in Hongjoong’s grasp, falling into his arms, with the broom and everything.

“You okay?” Hongjoong asks gripping him tightly around the waist, Seonghwa places his head in the crook of Hongjoong’s neck, breathing shakily.

“No,” he shakes his head. “There was a really bad car crash involving a family of four and a drunk driver, I didn’t sleep a minute since I came home. I’ve been thinking about it non-stop,” Seonghwa explains, saying the words into his skin.

“Oh,” Hongjoong inhales sharply. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that. What’s got you so shaken up, though?” He asks Seonghwa softly. “I know you’ve dealt with situations like these before.” He frowns, pulling away to look him in the eye.

“I don’t know…” Seonghwa leans the broom against the counter. “I guess I’ve just been really stressed, and it’s finally caught up to me.”

Hongjoong feels his chest tighten, he wishes he noticed their bed stayed empty the entire night, but he was so checked out after a gruelling five hour meeting about the latest album he helped work on, he didn’t even sleep, more like he fell unconscious.

“Okay, we’re gonna clean everything you want, and then we’re taking a long ass nap. I’m calling into work that I’ll send them the finished songs tomorrow,” Hongjoong says.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” Seonghwa tells him.

“You’re right, but I want to, okay?” Hongjoong steps on the tips of his toes and pulls Seonghwa’s head lower, so he can kiss him on the forehead.

“Okay,” Seonghwa smiles at him, kissing him on the lips in return.

Oh, what Hongjoong wouldn’t do for him – he’d burn the whole world if it meant Seonghwa was safe and content.

“Leave my poor ficus where it is, I’ll fix it up after I come back,” Hongjoong throws behind his shoulder.

He makes a few calls, stating a family emergency – and he’s not lying. It has been only Seonghwa and him for so long now; they might as well be just one person, their lives interchangeably woven together, like a pair of twined philodendron vines.

“I found you an old pot,” Seonghwa tells him from the bedroom entrance sometime later, holding out a vintage looking blue cooking pot.

“Where’d you find that?” Hongjoong asks, marvelling at it.

“Don’t ask,” Seonghwa answers. “Some things are better left unanswered,” he laughs.

“You’re weird,” Hongjoong says, leaving his phone to charge on their bed, “but let’s go move that fridge, yeah?”

“Let’s,” Seonghwa murmurs, letting him pass through the doorway, and follows closely after him.

They end up spending the whole morning cleaning and reorganizing the kitchen drawers and cupboards. Hongjoong replants his ficus and makes tea for them both; a teaspoon of dried green tea leaves, and two of mint with a teaspoon of honey – just how Seonghwa likes it.

They sit down on the backyard porch, the tinny sound of Seonghwa’s music coming from the inside their only company.

The midday sun shines hot at Hongjoong’s face, so he scoots his chair back to better look at Seonghwa. He finds Seonghwa wearing a tired look on his face, a Japanese Noh mask – on one side sadness, and the second he turns away anger is present.

It all speaks in favour of the way he lets others perceive him. In the starting years of their relationship, he wouldn’t let Hongjoong know if he had a 24 hour shift, but would instead push himself just to see Hongjoong for a few minutes, one time even falling unconscious on him.

Hongjoong grew tired of it very fast.

They talk now, a lot; about feelings and life, future and past. They’re boundlessly open with each other, but Hongjoong knows Seonghwa’s tells.

He watches Seonghwa stand up and go inside without a word, and already knows why he left.

“Do you want one?” Seonghwa asks him upon returning, holding out a pack of menthol Marlboros; it’s the ones where you have to press the little ball in the filter to make it taste less like cardboard.

Hongjoong finds them all equally disgusting, and however much he nags and threatens Seonghwa, the addiction seems to stick even more. “Of course not,” Hongjoong scoffs at him. “You know I hate when you smoke,” he scrunches his nose up at him.

Seonghwa shrugs, popping the menthol flavoured ball and putting the cigarette between his teeth, lighting it with a long gas lighter they found hidden away in one of the kitchen drawers.

Hongjoong would lie if he said Seonghwa didn’t look attractive while smoking, but he looks beautiful doing literally anything. Even sitting here in old clothes, the Adidas sweatpants so worn out that Hongjoong can see the skin of his knee through the hole in fabric.

“I’m tired, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa tells him around the butt hanging from his mouth. It comes to his attention how straight and perfect Seonghwa’s teeth are, and Hongjoong is reminded of the time they broke the skin on his shoulder, drawing blood.

“I think we should go on a trip,” he says, blowing out white smoke, “Somewhere where no one knows us, close to the sea.”

“I think I have a few vacation days leftover from last year,” Hongjoong mulls it over. “Maybe we could go next weekend?” He asks.

“Yeah, I have the weekend free,” Seonghwa says, looking at their garden with a frown on his face. “I could change shifts with Yeosang, so we can leave Friday night?” Seonghwa lilts the last word in question, turning his head to look at Hongjoong.

“Sure, that works,” Hongjoong says, lacing their fingers over the round table, pushing the ashtray further away from himself, almost gagging at the smell.

“Do you feel any better?” He asks Seonghwa, looking at him with a small smile on his face, like a content cat basking in sunshine.

“Yeah,” he says, putting the cigarette out and squeezing Hongjoong’s fingers. “I think we should go nap after I finish the smoke,” he continues, pulling another one from the packet. He lights it with the same gas lighter, brining his hand around it to shield it from a sudden gust of wind.

It takes another five minutes, Hongjoong with his head on his folded arm on the table, looking up at Seonghwa lovingly; stars in his eyes, fire burning bright in his heart.

He steps around Seonghwa to let him go inside first, but Seonghwa crowds him against the open doors, and before he can even lower his head to kiss him, Hongjoong puts his hand over his mouth.

“You are _not_ kissing me before brushing your teeth!” Hongjoong squawks at him affronted. “Can’t believe you’d even think about putting your mouth anywhere –.”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, because Seonghwa smiles mischievously at him, and picks Hongjoong up by his thighs, carrying him inside and closing the door with his foot – an impressive feat considering Hongjoong doesn’t really weigh nothing.

They both giggle loudly while Seonghwa carries him through the kitchen and up the hallway leading to their bedroom, feeling like they’re sixteen again, and they don’t have to worry about work or adult responsibilities.

Seonghwa deposits him on the unmade bed, and clicks disapprovingly with his tongue at Hongjoong. They make out like teenagers for some undeterminable time, their breathing getting more and more heavy, until Seonghwa starts slowing down – the passed days catching up to him.

Hongjoong falls asleep in Seonghwa’s arms, a heavy bag of bones and blood, only given meaning and depictured by the things he loves.

He dreams of a stone city, the sea hitting its shores, and the smell of salt hanging heavy in the air. Hongjoong walks down the streets filled with flowerbeds of white heather, until he sees the water, large and endless. A lone figure stands at the end of a long pier, overlooking the world at his feet, turned with his back to Hongjoong.

He steps forward, and then – he’s home.


End file.
